


So Much To Give

by zillah1199



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Fenders, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah1199/pseuds/zillah1199
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for this prompt: Anders has never had consensual sex. The templars raped him many times, but he doesn't really see it like that, since he never said no. The fact that he was too terrified to say no doesn't matter to him.<br/>When Fenris (or other LI) expresses an interest, Anders agrees to sleep with them because he feels he has no choice. When the time comes, he is desperately, painfully submissive, and the LI realises something is wrong ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Much To Give

Fenris is drunk again. Funny how drink made the elf talkative, even boisterous sometimes. His normal brooding and sullen monosyllabic replies ripened into pensive reminiscence, philosophical ramblings, even jokes. This time it had been a lengthy debate on the differences between the Chantries in Tevinter and Kirkwall. The discussion had taken over the evening, becoming more and more esoteric until finally only Sebastian and Fenris remained talking, while Anders dozed quietly in a chair, soothed by the low, fluid tones of the two men's voices.

The monthly evening gatherings - a boy's night out in Fenris' decaying mansion - had begun at Donnic's suggestion. He had been joining the elf there for cards for some time and had realized how empty the mansion felt, how alone Fenris was, even though the elf pretended otherwise. Unlike the others, he had no pursuits, no distractions apart from excursions with Hawke, or Wicked Grace night at the Hanged Man. The ex-slave was both too proud and too socially inexperienced to ask for company or to seek it out. It had been awkward at first, Sebastian, Hawke, Anders, Donnic and Varric all converging on the mansion announcing their intentions to 'hang out' with Fenris for the evening. 'Broody', as Varric liked to call him, was a terribly uncomfortable host that night, utterly at a loss and fumbling to make his guests at home in the moldering wreck of a house. Fortunately, the natural camaraderie that both Varric and Hawke seemed to inspire quickly turned the evenings into just another night amongst friends. It became a habit for each of the guests to bring some food, while Fenris provided drink from the mansion's seemingly inexhaustible wine cellars. Varric usually had a deck of cards or two. Hunting through the side rooms, Sebastian had found a set of Templars and Chanters, complete with an inlaid wood and marble board. The pieces were beautifully carved, the Templar side of rare ironwood, the Chanters of pale pink Orlesian marble. Sebastian began teaching the others to play. Fenris and Donnic, in particular, soon grasped the nuances of the game. Anders and Varric played competently, while Hawke was impatient, winning only if he could move the game forward quickly, rather than allowing it to become a drawn-out strategic match.

Tonight had been a particularly convivial evening. For whatever reason, the men had all been feeling talkative, and most of the night had been spent in conversation. Hawke had spoken at length about Ostagar, a topic he usually avoided. Donnic, recently returned from his honeymoon, had lightened the mood with reports on the tourist attractions of Orlais, while Hawke had teased him mercilessly for having noticed anything beyond his new bride. Only Anders had remained quiet – content simply to let the others talk. He'd been busy at the clinic lately, far more than usual, and the simple comfort of having his friends around him, no one asking anything of him, no frightened refugees, no eyes blinded with fear or faces contorted with pain pushing him to do more and more; giving of himself until he was so spent he thought he'd break like glass in a crushing grip. The mage knew he gave too much of himself. He couldn't help it. It was in his nature. He was a healer after all, and he'd never been able to ignore pain or need. Worse, yet, his years in the Circle had ingrained _giving_ into him, both through a deep desire to please and a terrible fear of punishment. His own rebellious nature had been responsible for much of that punishment, he knew. And now, with Justice merged into him, he found it even harder to ignore the needs of others, much more difficult to let the wild streak in his soul willfully, deliberately, flaunt the conditioned submissiveness so many Templars had tried so hard to beat into his soul. He has responsibilities now. Even so, it was nice just to sit and be, easy in the company of his closest friends.

Finally Sebastian departed, thanking Fenris for the intriguing debate and citing the lateness of the hour. The others had all left, all but Anders, asleep in an oversized chair, firelight turning his hair to rose gold. Fenris moved to stand at the edge of the chair, pondering the exhausted mage. Asleep, his face was relaxed, his lashes burnished bronze against the paleness of his skin. Some of his hair had come loose, shadowing a faint scattering of freckles that Fenris had never noticed before. The elf crouched, torn between waking the mage or just placing a blanket over him. He was at a loss, as he so often was when dealing with others. What he wanted was to brush the errant hairs from Anders' cheek, to run his hands gently down the stubbled jawline. How would it feel, to run a tongue along those bristles? Velvety? Harsh? Paralyzed by indecision, Fenris reached out, withdrew his hand, then reached out again. A sudden change in breathing, a huff, warned him that the older man was waking. Fenris jumped back, snatching his hand away like a child caught trying to steal a sweet.

Anders stretched. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Not long,” Fenris' reply was brief and characteristically uninflected. He scowled at himself and the wealth of things he wanted to say, but could never manage. His stomach fluttered at the other man's lopsided grin. 

“I should get going. I didn't realise how tired I was. For a decaying hovel, this mansion has surprisingly comfortable chairs.” Unfolding his long legs, the mage stood. Fenris was tall for an elf, but Anders was taller still, taller than most humans and easily a head taller than his host. Fenris glanced up, deep green meeting warm amber for a flash of a second before he dropped his eyes, addressing the wall just past Anders' shoulder.

“If you are too tired to walk home, you may stay.” Even as the words spilled out of his mouth, carried on the current of drink he'd consumed, Fenris couldn't believe he had managed to say it . He could clearly see Anders' eyebrows arching in surprise. He felt his hands flexing and unflexing, as if he could grab all the words he wanted to blurt out and pull them out of himself like a beating heart. _'Stay,_ ' he thought to himself _'Stay with me and let me show you all the things I long to say but cannot_.' He felt his eyebrows draw together in irritation with himself.

“I think I can manage. I wouldn't want to presume on your hospitality. I know I'm not your favourite person.” Even without hurrying, he was at the door too soon, down the stairs and gone while Fenris stood glowering, cursing himself for reverting to a foolish, tongue-tied child every time he found himself in the other man's presence. His lips framed insults while his mind crafted endearments. His face displayed hostility, while longing and adoration lurked deep under the emerald scowl. He threw himself into the chair Anders had so recently vacated. ' _Soon I will be punching the mage in the arm, or stealing his lunch to get his attention_ ;' he thought to himself. ' _What a fool I am. I travel half the world to escape the clutches of one mage, only to find myself hopelessly captured by another_.' He stared morosely into the fire, remembering the way it's light had painted Anders' skin, and shivered along the silk of his hair. Fenris curled up into a ball, tensing against the rising need in his loins. ' _Why can I not say what I feel?'_ he thought to himself, knowing already the answer. Fear. Fear of rejection, fear of ridicule, fear of acceptance even. Life as a slave had coated his every move with fear and suspicion, his whole existence a desperate game of silence and caution. 

He clutched at himself, squeezing his hardening member, imagining, wishing, longing to feel different hands stroking him, human hands with long fingers stained with elfroot, pale and freckled. Anders' hands. Stifling a moan, he slipped open his leggings, tugging himself free of the increasingly tight leather. He stroked himself, caressing his length, teasing the sensitive skin just under the head. A bead of precum leaked from his slit and he rubbed it into the skin, remembering the curve of the mage's throat as he'd stretched, rising from this very chair. Turning his head, Fenris could still catch the man's scent on the upholstery, green and herb-laced. He moaned again, reaching down and caressing his own balls, feeling the thin dusting of fuzz at the base, wondering again about the stubble that graced the blond man's jaw. Would it feel like this, soft and light or would it be harsher? With his other hand he stroked his shaft, stretching his legs out as his hips began to rock rhythmically in time with his hands. He moaned again, calling Anders' name, full of longing, aching, pent-up need. How many nights had he spent like this? How many more would he curse himself with, unable to give voice to his desire except here, alone? 

Anders was half-way out the door when he heard a noise from the room he'd just left. He stopped, uncertain. His head was still fuzzy with sleep and a bit more wine than Justice normally allowed him, but he thought he'd heard a moan of pain. He remembered the elf's invitation to stay, something that had puzzled him, but he'd tiredly dismissed it as an empty courtesy. ' _Since when has Fenris been polite to me_?' he thought. Was something wrong? Had the other man needed healing and been too pig-headed (as usual) to ask for it? He had just decided he'd imagined the noise when another sound, a distinct moan and what he was certain was his own name echoed down the empty stairs. Gathering his mana, he took the stairs two at a time, back to the sitting room where he'd left Fenris. He expected the elf to hear him, to say something, call out, send him away, but no further sound came from the room. When Anders reached the doorway he realized that the sounds he'd heard were a cry of a different kind of need than he'd expected. Fenris was sprawled across the chair by the fire, one leg over the arm, the other thrown over the back. His leggings dangled from one ankle and his eyes were closed, his throat arching deeply as he stroked himself. Anders felt a rush of confusion, of shock. He'd never imagined Fenris pleasuring himself, but of course he would. For all his exoticism, he was only human. Well, elvhen, anyway.

Anders wanted to sneak back out the way he came. This was none of his business and not something he should be watching. But Fenris had called out his name. _His_ name. That alone – so unexpected, so unimaginable – rooted him to the spot. Need, he could feel it radiating from the other man, need and desire, both rooted in a deep pain; all those things that pulled at Anders, filled him with his own need, the need to help, the need to give, no matter what the cost. He took a step forwards, cursing himself for a fool, and then another step, further into the room. He must have made some noise, some misstep that jolted Fenris out of his reverie. The elf's eyes snapped open and he threw himself awkwardly from the chair, hampered by his half-shed leggings. The two men stared stupidly at each other for a moment, both too stunned to speak. 

“Fenris, I'm sorry – I didn't mean – I heard a noise, I thought...” Anders trailed off lamely.

“You thought what, mage?” Fenris snarled, kicking his leg free of clothing and launching himself at the other man. “You thought you spy on me? Find a something to use against me? Well now you know, mage” he made the word sound foul, spitting it like a curse. 

Anders was pinned to the wall, his wrists grinding into the woodwork under the pressure of Fenris' grip. Lyrium flashed dully in the semi-darkness, while the firelight haloed silver hair with brilliant scarlet. Blinded by the twin glow, still struggling to make sense of the whole situation, Anders could only stammer, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just wanted to help."

“Help what? Help me make a fool of myself?” Fenris pushed the other man harder into the wall, the scent of herb-washed hair reviving his flagged erection. He ground himself into Anders. “And what will you do know that you know what it is I need? Who it is that I need? How will you torment me with this?” His voice was a throaty snarl in Anders' ear.

“Maker, no, I would never, I..” Anders was terrified. He closed his eyes tightly, glad of the pressure against his wrists. ' _As long as he's holding me down, he can't tear my heart out_.' Anders had spent a lifetime running to avoid just this – the terrible helplessness of another man pressing into him, wanting, needing, taking. He wanted to scream, to shake off the clutching grasp, the hot breath against his neck. But he felt himself responding to the other man's passion, his own cock hardening against the pressure, his own heart pounding with a mixture of dread and desire.

“Enough!” Fenris pushed harder still, nipping at Anders' jaw. He traced his way down from earlobe to chin, growling softly to himself as the ever-present stubble rasped against his lips and tongue. Anders felt himself gasping as lips crushed against lips, felt the tongue invading his mouth, flickering at first, then deeply, exploring him with probing thrusts, drawing his own tongue out and into Fenris' mouth, heavy with the taste of wine.

' _He's drunk_ ,' Anders thought desperately to himself, forcing himself to relax and submit to the other man's need. Fenris' voice, _that_ voice, whispered in his ear .

“Yes, like that, that's good, mage.” Fenris released his wrists and stepped back, green eyes devouring him. “Take your clothes off.” Anders scrambled to comply while Fenris removed his own remaining garments. Anders paused, halfway through stripping, stunned by the beauty and complexity of the radiant lyrium lines curling over olive-toned flesh. “Now,” came the fierce growl, jolting Anders back into motion. By the time he was finished, Fenris was reaching for his hand, pulling him into the next room. 

“Fenris, I..” Fenris cut him off with another kiss, deep and searching. 

“I have wanted you for so long, mage. You cannot imagine it.” His voice was deep with desire and he chuckled throatily and he reached forwards and caressed Anders' stiffening cock. “I should have spoken up long before this” he murmured, pulling the taller man towards the huge bed that dominated the far wall.

' _He's drunk, he doesn't know what he's doing, it's not his fault_ ,' cried one part of Anders' mind while the other screamed ' _No, Maker, no, not again. Not like this_.' He let Fenris lead him to the bed and pull him down onto it, trying not to tremble. It wasn't the first time Anders had been drawn into another man's lust. Templars, mages, Wardens, sometimes friends, sometimes enemies. Strong hands, pressing lips and deep, fiery need that burned itself into Anders' consciousness, demanding that he do something, anything, to sate that need, to calm the intensity, to give what was taken. With Karl it had been the desire to please – to show that he was older, wiser, less callow than he appeared. He would bite his lip against the pain, grunting with a mixture of passion and anguish as the other man rutted into him. He always promised himself that next time his teacher beckoned him into a darkened study he would make an excuse, refuse, but he couldn't bear to say no to the man he adored, desired, whom he so longed to impress. The first time had been quick, rough and harsh. He hadn't said anything about being a virgin, didn't want to look a fool. Afterwards he'd cried himself to sleep as quietly as he could. It was nothing like he'd expected, nothing like he'd imagined late at night, stroking himself under the covers of his thin bed in the apprentice's quarters. But every time Karl looked at him that way he felt himself melting, aching with desire and the hope that this time it would be different. But it never was. Not with the Templars, who took pleasure in Anders whimpers, who used their authority to torment mages, especially young, pretty mages, demanding sex as payment, inflicting it as punishment, taking what they wanted, secure in the knowledge that no mage would dare deny them. Later, on the run, he'd paid for his safety, for room and board, for protection or for help escaping with the only coin he had, his body. He covered it all with a veneer of rakishness, the illusion of worldliness, still anxious to appear wiser, braver, so much stronger than he had ever managed to feel.

Fenris pinned Anders down, rubbing an aching cock against Anders' stomach. He'd wanted the other man from the first time he laid eyes on him in the Alienage, when Hawke and his companions had come to Fenris' aid. He'd been horrified to discover the man was a mage, and worse, an abomination, but the knowledge had done nothing to drive away the need he felt whenever they were together. Anders was so beautiful. Nothing about him was like the mages Fenris had known in Tevinter. None of their ridiculous, overblown narcissism, no simpering affectations. Anders dressed and lived simply, spending his time aiding others, with no thought for personal gain or comfort. Fenris had even grown to admire the man, a fact he kept well-hidden, lest anyone perceive it as weakness on his part. And now the mage was naked beneath him, just as he'd imagined – but never dared hope for, unspoken need buried in the pretense of scorn or disdain. How much time had he wasted with such foolishness? Why had he kept silent for so long when he could have had this so much sooner.

His breath was ragged against Anders' skin, that creamy pale skin. Fenris sat back and drank in the sight. Everything about Anders was long and elegantly muscled. The hair on his chest matched his eyebrows, darkened gold, and trailed down the center of his stomach, framing first his navel, then blossoming into his crotch like a tuft of wiry wool. Anders was hard, as hard as Fenris, his cock twitching against his stomach, the tiniest drop of liquid beading at its tip. Fenris groaned and slid down the bed until he could bury his face in the dark curls. Taking Anders into his mouth was better than he'd ever dreamed, and he ran his tongue hungrily along the shaft, sucking on his head, tasting the bitter salt of precum. His hands caressed strong thighs, his fingers coddled the mage's tightening sac. Anders gasped, clutching the blanket. Fenris moaned again as he felt Anders' hips begin to move, bucking to match the strokes he was making with his mouth. Lyrium flashed, Fenris felt lightheaded with desire. The mage felt so good in his mouth, the hard, throbbing cock riding against his tongue, the head rubbing into the roof of his mouth and down into his throat. He bobbed his head harder, urgently pressing down on his own erection. If he wasn't careful, he'd come too soon, and he didn't want that. He wanted to draw the experience out, prolong it as long as possible. He wouldn't admit to himself that he was afraid this would be the only time, that afterwards they'd both return to sneers and distance. He couldn't bear to even think of that.

Not that thinking anything was easy at the moment. Fenris' fingers were drenched in his own spittle from kneading Anders' scrotum. He reached under the bed and found a vial of oil, spilling some onto his already wet hand. He caressed the skin behind Anders' balls, moving towards his rectum, drawing circles around the tender opening, feeling his partner gasp as he teased his way inside. Gently he probed the soft, yielding flesh, finding the spots that increased Anders' thrusting, that made him moan and arch against Fenris' hand. Surprisingly quickly the mage was gasping, the already hard member stiffening even further, sac tightening. His back arched and he cried out, jetting semen into Fenris' mouth, while Fenris swallowed greedily, squeezing the shaft to coax out every last drop.

By now Fenris was aching with need. He stood up, devouring Anders with his eyes. “That was good. So good. Are you always such a good boy?” He caressed himself as he murmured, not realising he was parroting his former master – the only kind of endearments he'd ever been given, the only kind he knew. “Such a beautiful boy,” he whispered, rubbing oil onto his pulsing erection as he continued to tease Anders with his other hand.

Anders lay as still as he could after his wrenching orgasm, cursing himself for weakness, willing himself not to tremble, not to show fear. It would be over soon and Fenris would be content. If he was careful, if he avoided provoking him again, Fenris would leave him alone after this. He just had to endure it. ' _Don't look at him again_.' Anders thought desperately ' _Don't look into those eyes. Look at him and you're lost.You'll start **wanting** , and then it'll never end_.' He felt Fenris kneel back on the bed and his eyes flickered open only to catch the other man's gaze. Those eyes, so green, so deep. How many times had he felt his stomach flip gazing into them? How many times had he imagined them, filled with longing just as they were now? How many times had he wanted...something, but what? How? Something sweeter, something...something like he'd first imagined, so many years ago, alone in his dormitory. But he didn't know how to make that happen, he only knew...this. Pain and fear and the desire to please, to give.

Fenris held himself over Anders, nuzzling into his hair, licking the rounded curve of his ear, tickling his jaw and neck with tongue and teeth. He heard the indrawn breath and pulled his head up to see a single tear escape from the corner of Anders' eye. He froze, suddenly sober, suddenly cold. “Anders?” he whispered. Honey brown eyes flew open, a flash of fear, quickly dampened. Fenris sat back on his heels. “What is the matter?” He tried to keep his voice even, calm. 

“What do you mean?” Dark eyes quickly shifting away, looking anywhere but into his own.

“Have I hurt you? I am sorry, I thought...I wanted to please you. I wanted you to desire me as I desire you.”

“I...don't...I...”

Fenris felt his stomach plummet, roiling. ' _What have I done?_ ' He thought. “I am no better than Danarius, taking without ever considering what you might want. That you might not want me.” He flung himself from the bed, overwhelmed with disgust. “You must hate me. You should hate me.”

Anders stared. He had no idea how to respond. Fenris' face crumpled and he turned to run from the room. “No!” Anders grabbed the elf's arm before he was halfway across the room. “No, I don't. I don't hate you, it's not your fault, please, come lie back down,” He tried to guide Fenris back to the bed, foolishly petting his arm, patting him on the back.

“Don't patronize me!” the normally sleek, fluid voice was hoarse, choked with tears and anger. “You do not want me. I understand that. I will not have give yourself to me out of fear. I thought...I wanted..” He buried his face in his hands, the lyrium etchings grown dull. ”Go. Leave me alone. I will never touch you again, have no fear.”

"Fenris, please...” Anders stood and wrapped his arms around Fenris, cradling the elf against his chest, feeling the tears he knew he wasn't supposed to see. Fenris struggled at first, then collapsed into Anders' arms. Gently, Anders led him back to the bed, sitting down on the edge, still holding Fenris against him. “I do want you. Maker, yes, I've wanted you. But I thought you hated me. I never imagined...” he trailed off awkwardly, uncertain of what to say. Fenris lifted his head, and their eyes met. ' _Damn him,_ ' thought Anders ' _why doesn't he get swollen and puffy when he cries like a normal person?_ ' Red lined green eyes, swimming with tears, but otherwise, his face was as sculpturally perfect as ever. Anders traced the etched markings on Fenris' face and throat.

“I do not hate you. I have never...hated you. I have never been skilled at expressing my feelings. I have never been allowed to express my feelings. I...mask them. Subvert them so that no one will... no one can..." he shook his head. "You would not understand.”

“Use them against you? Oh, Fenris, I understand. I understand all too well.” He kissed the elf's brow, touched his lips gently above each eyelid, moving down to press their faces together. Hesitantly, he drew Fenris into a kiss. Fenris jerked away.

“You do not have to do this.”

“I want to,” whispered Anders. And it was true, he did. Suddenly he wanted to kiss Fenris more than he'd ever wanted to kiss anyone in his life. He started gently at first, tickling Fenris's lips with his tongue, flicking the tip into the corners of the elf's mouth, feeling that mouth open under his. He took his time, savouring the kiss, nibbling at soft lips, feeling jaw muscles flex against his fingers as he held Fenris' head in his hands. Finally he pulled back, gasping for breath. “Oh, Maker,” he murmured. His heart was pounding, his whole body was pounding. He kissed Fenris again, deeper, feeling strong arms stroking his chest. He tangled his fingers into white hair, letting the other hand trace the markings on Fenris' throat, his shoulders, down his smooth, golden chest. By now they were both hard again, and, for the first time, Anders felt need, pure need, unburdened by shame or dread. He pulled Fenris down on top of him, stroking the other man's erection, marvelling at the lines drawn even there. “Andraste's ass, that must have hurt.” he whispered. 

"You have no idea,” Fenris' voice was dry, even amused, but his gaze was deep, searching, vulnerable. “Are you sure about this? Is this what you want?” 

Anders found the vial of oil that Fenris had used earlier. Pouring a little onto his hand he rubbed it into Fenris cock, smiling as the other man closed his eyes in bliss. He stroked the elf firmly, coating the oil onto the hard shaft, circling his palm around and over the tip, feeling his heart race as the Fenris squirmed and moaned. He traced his tongue over Fenris' chest, lingering at the dark nipples that peeked out through swirling blue tattoos, gripping both of their cocks, pressing them together as his hand continued stroking. “Oh yes, I want this. I do want this.” He guided Fenris to his entrance with one hand, drawing their mouths together for another kiss.

Fenris tried to be gentle at first, but with the mage's legs locked around his waist it was difficult to maintain control. He kept his movements smooth, his thrusts light, while he kissed Anders' lips, his neck, his collarbone. He began to babble, all the things he'd wanted to say, but never been able to utter; how beautiful Anders was, how sexy, how long he'd watched him, wanted him, how he'd lain alone in bed stroking himself while imagining it was Anders he was touching, Anders that was touching him. Trembling underneath him, moaning softly, the mage's pale hands suddenly grabbed Fenris by the hips, forcing him deeper until he began slamming into the soft flesh of Anders' backside. “More, please, oh yes, love, more. Oh, Fenris!” 

The sound of his name in Anders' mouth was like lightning down Fenris' spine. He heard himself growling throatily as Anders began to arch his back underneath him. Propped himself up a bit, he was gratified to see that the mage's head thrown back, his eyelids fluttering, his mouth working soundlessly. Fenris felt fingers digging into his back, into the naked flesh of his buttocks as he pumped relentlessly. His own eyes closed as he felt the beginnings of an orgasm swelling at the base of his spine. “Oh yes, oh Maker yes!” Anders was crying out, his cock twitching and spilling between them. Fenris felt himself screaming like a wild thing as he rode out the wave of ecstasy that crashed over him. With a final thrust he was spent, collapsing on top of Anders, his face buried in his lovers' shoulder.

After a moment he turned his head to see the mage watching him, eyes glowing, as he threaded his fingers into Fenris' hair.

“Was it...” Fenris found himself suddenly shy. “Did you like that?” 

Anders chuckled and kissed the elf deeply. “Oh, yes. It was wonderful,” he sighed dreamily, “it was everything I'd always imagined it could be.” Caressing Fenris' jaw, he smiled, eyes warm and sparkling. “You have no idea what a wonderful gift you've given me.”

Fenris burrowed into his lover's arms. “I would give you anything,” he whispered, catching Anders' hand and twining their fingers together.

**Author's Note:**

> From kink.meme. Very slight editing. This was the first piece of DA fanfic I ever wrote and the first piece of fanfic I've written in about 20 years (yes, I'm old.) Enjoy.


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